


Shelter from the Storm

by scatterglory



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Homeless, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, New York City, Romance, Storms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 22:11:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatterglory/pseuds/scatterglory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the kinkmeme prompt:</p>
<p>Merlin's life on the street is made bearable by Arthur, his trusted food bringer.  He comes everyday, rain or shine. They never talk, but their daily appointment is something neither of the two misses. </p>
<p>Then one day a storm comes to town and Merlin thinks it will be impossible for Arthur to bring him food...  </p>
<p>But as it turns out, that's the night Merlin gets more than a warm meal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shelter from the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a transformative work of fan-love. I make no profit and claim no ownership.
> 
> Many thanks to inspired_being for the beta! :)

The rain has already begun to fall, a steady, penetrating vanguard of the assault to come. Merlin hasn’t heard anything official about the impending storm--he had overheard everything from tropical depression to Category 3 hurricane--but the important thing is that they aren’t evacuating Manhattan and all the shelters are full.

Merlin huddles down deeper in the pile of rags, newspaper and cardboard he pulled together as soon as the last shelter turned him away. He’s still dry, but who knows how long that will last. Luckily it’s August, so at least the rain is warm. 

He tries to ignore his surroundings like usual, to close his eyes and go deep inside to the place where colors and textures swirl behind his eyelids. It’s a razor-edge dance to let the colors dart across his vision, without them solidify into anything recognizable. At first, the images would appear anyway and he’d open his eyes to vomit, but now his mind i trained to shy away from any flicker of meaning.

This time, however, he can’t relax enough to drift away into his own mind. It’s more than just the rain, he thinks, and the steady undercurrent of unease running through the anxious city. Even the most die-hard tourists and jaded natives are off the streets tonight. The Starbucks he usually sits in front of is empty, probably for the first time ever during business hours, and--

And that’s it. That’s why he can’t relax. He doesn’t have a watch, but he knows it’s close to rush hour. He shouldn’t be hiding in the pathetic shelter of this alcove, out of sight of the street. He should be sitting in front of Starbucks right now, waiting for Apollo to walk by on his way home. 

Apollo’s real name is Arthur. Merlin knows because he heard him answer his cell once. It’s an iPhone, of course, black like the no-doubt expensive suits he always wears. Apollo had sounded annoyed as he’d walked off, leaving Merlin’s ‘thank you’ floating in the air between them even as Merlin unwrapped the sandwich. It had been eggplant parmesan, still hot, and Merlin had wondered where Apollo got it.

Merlin thinks ‘Apollo’ suits him much better than ‘Arthur.’ _Arthur_ is a stuffy name, and maybe it works when he’s stuffed into his suit, stuffed into an office, stuffed into the lifestyle of Wall Street, or wherever it is he works. But whenever Merlin sees him, his tie is loosened, his collar is unbuttoned and his shoulders are slumped with exhaustion, like someone’s just taken the weight of the world away.

Merlin named him Atlas for a while--he’s golden and perfect, just like the Atlas in front of Rockefeller Center. But then one afternoon, Merlin had looked up just in time to see the halo of the sun behind him, rendering him almost too perfect to be real.

So, he was Apollo, the God of the Sun.

Merlin’s thoughts spiral around and around, before settling daintily on that particular point. Of course the God of the Sun won’t come today. He’ll be in his palace, safe and warm and above the rain. The thought consoles Merlin and he is even able to convince himself the rumbling he hears is thunder, not his stomach.

With a sigh, he burrows even deeper into his nest and waits for the storm to pass over.

* * *

The rain is really coming down now. Broadway is more of a stream than a street and Merlin imagines all the water flooding the sewers, spilling over into the subway tunnels and washing away the darkness and filth of the world below.

Merlin hates the subway. It’s hot and stuffy and the trains are too bright. Inside the trains, the noise and colors jar his senses, and outside, the murky brown darkness chokes him. So he stays above ground through the rain and snow and cold because at least there he can breathe.

His eyes are closed and he is enjoying the play of blues and greens behind his eyelids, when--

“Um. Excuse me?”

Merlin’s eyes snap open. Standing in front of him is a man in a raincoat, hood pulled low. He’s close enough to Merlin to be out of the rain, but it still takes Merlin several seconds to recognize him.

Apollo shifts nervously as Merlin stares.

“I didn’t bring you anything,” he says finally. Even in the dim light, Merlin can see his cheeks redden. “I tried, but everything’s closed down.”

The words roll past Merlin’s ears without stopping and Merlin feels his world tilt. Apollo has never addressed him directly before, has barely even acknowledged his thanks with a nod. Merlin’s vision blurs slightly and then Apollo’s framed in gold again, but this time with a worried, human crease lining his forehead.

“You can’t stay out here.”

Merlin blinks and the image fades. He realizes that, when not overshadowed by the golden halo of his mind, Apollo’s eyes are very, very blue.

“I don’t have anywhere to go.” His voice sounds thin and far away.

The crease in Apollo’s forehead deepens and something cold and sour settles in the pit of Merlin’s stomach. He knows what will happen next--it’s all happened before, with tourists, policemen, social workers. They never believe him when he says he knows all the shelters and they are always full. There’s never space for a single young man.

Apollo looks confused “Obviously. I mean, I figured if you did, you’d...” He breaks off. “When you weren’t in front of Starbucks, I’d hoped you’d found a better place. A safe place.”

“This is better.”

Apollo frowns. “Barely. And it’s not safe.”

Merlin feels a frisson of heat run down his spine, almost like anger. He sits up, dislodging most of his nest, and looks Apollo straight in the eye.

“No place is safe.”

Apollo exhales slowly. “Yeah,” he agrees. He holds Merlin’s gaze without flinching.

They wait, just staring at each other as the storm grows.

* * *

Merlin studies Apollo out of the corner of his eye as they stand side by side, looking out at the rain. His hand still tingles from the touch of Apollo’s skin, his heart still pounds from the feeling of being pulled to his feet.

Apollo stares straight ahead, scanning the street without moving his head. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his raincoat now and Merlin wonders if he’s already regretting his offer.

“If someone’s not here in five minutes,” Apollo says casually, “I really will ruin their company.”

Merlin blinks and forces himself to tear his gaze away from the crystal-clear outline of Apollo’s profile. When the black hired car pulls up in front of them, the driver doesn’t get out, so Apollo opens the back door for Merlin himself. Merlin slides across the seat gingerly, cheeks flushing with shame as he imagines what his unwashed clothes will do to the leather. He expects Apollo to climb in next to the driver and something flutters in his stomach when Apollo sits next to him instead.

The driver takes off without a word, his silence a stark reproach for the blatant threats Apollo had uttered into his phone. Merlin wonders if the driver has a family waiting for him, someone to welcome him home, someone to keep him warm and dry...

He clamps down on those thoughts immediately and glances over at Apollo. Apollo’s sitting completely still, staring out the window. A muscle in his jaw jumps and Merlin wants to run his fingers over the dark spots on his slacks where the rain soaked through.

* * *

Apollo’s building is the tallest on the block, the top floor disappearing into the rain. The lobby is cream and gold and Apollo moves through it like it really is the kingdom of the Sun. The concierge doesn’t blink as Merlin follows along behind, but Merlin keeps his head down anyway.

The elevator is panelled in dark wood and mirrors. Merlin’s eyes shy away from his reflection and he thinks about tracing a line of wood grain to see where it will lead. When the elevator stops just below the top floor, he almost doesn’t follow Apollo into the hall.

As soon as he steps inside Apollo’s apartment, Merlin freezes. His heart pounds in his chest as his eyes dart around the room--everything is white, black and chrome. He shuts his eyes against the lack of colour. This can’t be where Apollo lives. It doesn’t _fit_.

“Are you all right?”

Merlin forces his eyes open at the concern in Apollo’s voice. Apollo’s standing a few steps in front of him, holding his raincoat. He’s wearing a crimson button-down shirt with no tie and his collar is open. Merlin’s breath catches in his throat.

“I can’t,” he begins, but doesn’t know how to finish.

Apollo’s eyes dart down to his filthy, nearly-rotting shoes, then to the white carpet covering the floor. His expression clears.

“It’s okay,” he says. He offers Merlin a small, encouraging smile. “It’s okay.”

Merlin looks away as he kicks off his shoes. His socks are no more than rags; he stumbles slightly as he peels them off. Apollo’s hand under his elbow steadies him and when he straightens with surprise, they’re practically chest-to-chest.

“I have--” Apollo’s voice shakes slightly, “I have things you can wear. If you want to--shower.”

He’s still holding Merlin’s arm and Merlin shivers.

“To warm up,” Apollo continues without letting go. Merlin feels like he’s drowning as they stare into each other’s eyes.

“Yeah,” he manages. “Okay.”

Apollo lets go abruptly and steps back. Merlin follows him down the hall, waits awkwardly outside the door while he fetches clothes from his room and accepts them with shaking hands when they reach the bathroom.

“Thank you,” he says softly, not meeting Apollo’s eyes. He hears Apollo suck in a sharp breath, before turning quickly and leaving him alone.

* * *

The soft slide of clean fabric across his fresh-scrubbed skin makes Merlin close his eyes and sigh with pleasure. He’s lingered in the shower for so long that he half-expects Apollo to come make sure he hasn’t drowned. The steam in the room is scented with the citrus from Apollo’s shampoo, the smell mingling with whatever detergent he uses for his laundry. Merlin wriggles into the well-worn tee-shirt then pauses. Apollo gave him boxers along with a pair of sweatpants, but the thought of actually putting them on, so intimate against his skin...

Merlin hides the boxers under the towel, and slips the sweats on over his hips. He has to pull the drawstring tight to keep them from slipping down too much, and even so they rest just above his hipbones. He fingers the material, remembering a time when he’d refused to wear anything so boring and normal, arguing with his m--

His hand jerks away from the sweats and he presses his forehead against the mirror. The glass has fogged over, his reflection an indistinct blob of black and white.

Maybe the clothes give him courage, or maybe it’s just the need to stop before he remembers too much, but he finds himself wiping down the glass with a washcloth and staring into his own pale face.

He hisses softly at his reflection. His eyes are too big, making him look younger than he is. With his still-wet black hair and heat-flushed cheeks, he looks like a teenager again, not the veteran of the streets he’s become. The effects of his past are softened by the steam-filtered light and his shaky skinniness is hidden by the too-large clothing.

Gathering his strength, Merlin runs his hands through his hair before leaving the bathroom. In the hall, he breathes deeply, then breathes again as an amazing smell wafts through the air. Retracing his steps back to the living room, he follows the smell to the left and finds the kitchen.

Apollo is standing with his back to Merlin, stirring something on the stove. He’s changed out of his shirt and slacks and is now wearing an old tee-shirt, much like the one he gave to Merlin, and a pair of faded jeans.

“I hope you like pasta,” he says without turning. “I’m not a very good cook, but I can at least do spaghetti.”

He turns with a smile and Merlin stares at his chest. He’s wearing an apron, “Kiss the Cook!” is written in white against the black fabric. A huge pair of bright red cartoon lips adorn one side and Merlin latches on to the colour without thinking. The lips are much redder than Apollo’s, but Merlin thinks they match all the same.

Apollo follows his gaze and blushes. “Oh. Um, I forgot I was wearing it.”

Merlin looks up at his face, but Apollo’s looking away now, embarrassed.

“I like it.”

“Yeah?” Apollo glances up, smiling hesitantly. Merlin nods and Apollo turns back to the stove. “This should be ready soon. Spaghetti marinara, and there’s a salad in the fridge. What do you want to drink? I have wine, beer...” He glances over his shoulder just in time to see Merlin flinch. “Okay, water it is.”

Merlin wants to say no, it’s fine, he just usually avoids alcohol because he’s seen what it can do when it’s your only escape, but he waits too long and Apollo’s filling two glasses from the filter in the fridge. He puts the glasses down on the bar next to Merlin. “I thought we could just eat here.”

Merlin sits gingerly on one of the high stools as Apollo finishes cooking.

“I realized we don’t even know each other’s names.” Apollo lays out plates, silverware and napkins, before piling a heaping mound of sauce-drenched pasta onto Merlin’s plate. Merlin almost corrects him, but puts his napkin in his lap instead.

“I’m Arthur.”

Merlin doesn’t answer for a moment, scrambling to readjust his world to one where he’s sitting inside, clean, eating dinner with _Arthur_. He feels a wave of panic begin to rise, but forces it back down.

“Merlin.” He meets Ap-- _Arthur’s_ eyes, and Arthur smiles at him. Merlin doesn’t raise his fork to his mouth until Arthur begins to eat.

They eat in silence. The food is delicious, warm and fresh, but Merlin can’t stop watching Arthur. Arthur has a smear of sauce at the corner of his mouth and Merlin feels his shoulders grow tense as they eat without speaking.

No one gives something for nothing. Lawyers, schools, landlords, psychiatrists all want money. Friends want you to be stable and happy and normal, like nothing bad has ever happened to you. If people don’t get what they want from you...

They throw you out.

They leave.

No one gives this much without expecting a reward. A sandwich, maybe, but no one invites a stranger into their home like this, without wanting something in return.

Merlin’s stomach clenches as Arthur stays focused on his food. When he can’t bear it any longer, he puts his fork down. Arthur looks up at him, curious, but Merlin’s expression keeps him from speaking.

“What do you want from me?” Merlin asks, his voice shaky.

Arthur blinks at him, confused. “I don’t want anything from you.”

Merlin balls his hands in his lap and looks down. “Everyone wants something.”

Arthur doesn’t respond and Merlin’s fingernails press hard into his palms. His breathing is starting to quicken, when Arthur finally speaks.

“I--I know it feels that way sometimes,” he says quietly. “But it doesn’t--it’s not--” he breaks off, frustrated, and Merlin looks up cautiously.

Arthur holds his gaze, blue eyes earnest. “Not everyone is like that.”

Merlin hears the desperation in his tone and wonders which one of them he’s trying to convince.

“Why me?” he asks, voice cracking.

A shadow flickers over Arthur’s face and he looks down at his plate.

“Because you’re the only person--” he breaks off and takes a deep breath before trying again, “Because you always say thank you.”

The words hang in the silence between them. Arthur sits, head bent, and Merlin studies the way the kitchen light plays over his hair.

Then, after a long moment, Merlin picks up his fork again.

* * *

They’re sitting on the couch in the living room, dark except for the light from the television. The volume’s down low enough to barely be audible over the storm and occasional flashes of lightning cast the room in an eerie glow.

Arthur sits on one end of the couch, legs stretched out in front of him. His arms rest at his sides and he watches the television with a soft, relaxed expression on his face.

Merlin’s curled up on the other end of the couch, wrapped in the fluffy grey blanket that Arthur offered without a word. He tries to watch the program, but his eyes keep drifting back to Arthur. He finally gives up and let’s himself drink in the way the colours from the television bend and refract on Arthur’s skin.

Merlin’s not sure how much time has passed when Arthur turns to look at him. Their eyes meet and Merlin doesn’t look away. Arthur’s face is expressionless, studying Merlin as Merlin studies him. Something prickles under Merlin’s skin and he feels a strange pressure building up inside his chest.

“I’m not crazy.”

The words emerge from his lips unintentionally. He flinches, but Arthur doesn’t react.

Somehow, that’s even worse than disgust.

“I’m not crazy,” Merlin says again, suddenly desperate for Arthur to _understand_. “I just see things differently than most people.”

Something flickers in Arthur’s eyes. “Like what?” he asks softly, shifting until he’s facing Merlin directly.

Again, the words come without thought. “Like you.”

Surprise flashes across Arthur’s face, before he schools his features into a blank mask. Now, for the first time, he fits in with their austere, impersonal surroundings, but his eyes shine out from within the mask, vibrant blue against the starkness of the room.

Merlin sucks in a sharp breath as his fingers twitch against his leg, itching with the need to reach out--

He clenches his fingers in his sweats and closes his eyes. He tries to summon a vision of color to distract himself from the blank canvas of Arthur’s face, but Arthur’s voice pulls him back.

“H-how do you see me?”

Arthur’s voice wavers slightly and Merlin can’t keep from opening his eyes. Arthur’s face is still expressionless, but the lines of his body betray his tension.

Merlin feels a jolt of adrenaline shoot through him as he stares at Arthur. His breath quickens slightly and he knows his next words are true before he says them. “You’re hiding.”

Arthur’s breath hisses sharply and Merlin sees something like fear in his eyes.

The mask has slipped.

Encouraged, Merlin continues. “You hate this.”

“Hate what?” Arthur’s voice is weak, as though he’s speaking from far away.

“This.” Merlin gestures around the room. Arthur follows the path of his hands, before settling on his face. The raw, haunted look in Arthur’s eyes pulls Merlin forward unthinkingly until they’re knee-to-knee, Arthur leaning back into the couch and Merlin hovering just inches away.

“There’s no color here,” he whispers, staring deep into Arthur’s eyes.

Arthur swallows audibly and his gaze slides away. The line of his neck stands out starkly in the dim light of the room and Merlin has to trace it with his finger. He follows the line down Arthur’s throat, across his collarbone and up along his jaw, memorizing it for the future, for when--

“I’d paint you in gold,” he murmurs. “And red.” Arthur’s breath stutters as Merlin’s finger brushes lightly across his cheekbones, his eyebrows, his lips...

“Blue, for your eyes,” Merlin continues. “Primary colors. Bold. Alive.” Arthur’s lips part slightly and Merlin’s finger rests in the dip of his lower lip.

Merlin swallows and closes his eyes. “This place is dead.”

Arthur makes a soft, pained noise. Merlin opens his eyes to find Arthur staring at him, pupils blown wide. His lips move under Merlin's finger as he speaks. “You--you’re a painter?”

Merlin jerks his finger away as Arthur’s words slice through his mind like knives. He feels himself starting to hyperventilate and tries to clamp down, to keep the images at bay--

But it’s too late.

_The Brooklyn sky glows sickly orange. He’s running home from the subway as fast as he can, art satchel falling from his grip as fear crashes over him. Even as he turns the corner, he’s praying for it to be some other building, someone else’s home that’s burning as brown smoke fills the summer air._

_He hasn’t seen his mother since he came home for Christmas break, and her loving, joyful face swims in front of his eyes as the firemen catch him and hold him back._

_Flames lick the sky as everything he loves turns to ash._

“Merlin?”

Merlin cries out at the feel of Arthur’s hands on his shoulders. The vision shatters like glass and he’s wrenched back into the present. His eyes lock on Arthur’s frantically and Arthur’s grip tightens. When he speaks, his voice is low and urgent.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

Merlin nods jerkily, closing his eyes and leaning forward. Arthur’s fingers relax slightly as their foreheads touch.

Merlin lets out a shaky, shuddering breath. Goosebumps blossom on his skin as Arthur runs his hands over Merlin’s arms, comforting and solid and warm. Merlin’s panic begins to fade, the lingering echoes of his past drowned out by the reality of _Arthur_.

“It’s okay,” Arthur’s murmuring, over and over again, “I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

When Merlin presses their lips together, Arthur’s mouth welcomes him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Arthur’s lips are warm and dry and so, so _real_.

Merlin cups Arthur’s face with shaking hands as he slides into Arthur’s lap. Arthur’s breath hitches as Merlin straddles him and Merlin can’t keep himself from whimpering softly at the feeling of another body--another _person_ \--pressing against him. Arthur’s hands fly up to his back, stroking the length of his spine over his shirt and Merlin shudders. Rearing up, he tilts Arthur’s head back and plunders his mouth, glorying in the way Arthur yields under his tongue--

\--and then reality crashes down. Merlin pushes himself off Arthur and onto the floor, curling into a ball and burying his face in his knees.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps out, stomach churning as he realizes what he’s just done. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry--”

“Merlin.” Arthur’s voice sounds choked and Merlin cringes away. Eyes screwed shut, he imagines the anger that must be on Arthur’s face as he reacts to Merlin’s pathetic--

“Shhh.” Merlin jerks with surprise as Arthur slides down behind him, pulling him into his arms. Merlin lets out a choked sob as Arthur gathers him up, breath hot in Merlin’s ear. “Don’t apologize.”

Merlin feels himself shaking, his breath coming in short gasps. “B-but you invited me here and I took adv--”

“You didn’t take anything.” Arthur’s tone is sharp and Merlin freezes. Arthur’s arms tighten around Merlin, but his voice is soft as he continues. “At least, nothing that I didn’t want to give.”

Merlin’s breath stutters as he tries to make sense of Arthur’s words. Arthur shifts, pulling Merlin with him as he leans against the couch. He brackets Merlin with his legs and Merlin feels the muscles in Arthur’s chest press against his back.

“Why are you doing this?” His voice sounds lost and broken to his own ears. “I’m not worth--”

“You _are_.” Arthur sounds almost fierce as he presses his cheek against Merlin’s. His voice shakes as he continues. “You _absolutely_ are.”

The words roll over Merlin’s ears without stopping, but the tone of Arthur’s voice makes his eyelids flutter shut. He feels himself go limp in Arthur’s arms, unable to fight the warmth seeping into him from every place Arthur touches.

Arthur shifts slightly, settling them back against the couch even more.

“I remember the first time I saw you outside of Starbucks,” he says softly. “You were sitting in the sun with your eyes closed; smiling like the whole world was on your side.”

Merlin remembers that day, one of the first true days of spring after a harsh New York winter.

After a short pause, Arthur continues. “Work had been hell and I wasn’t paying attention to anything except getting home as soon as possible...but then I saw you, and I wanted--” He stops and Merlin holds his breath. “I wanted to know what was making you smile like that.”

A robin. He’d seen a robin.

“I got you a sandwich,” Arthur continues.

Chicken pesto.

“I wanted to leave it next to you without disturbing you, but you opened your eyes and--”

It was like a punch in the stomach, opening his eyes to find Arthur standing over him.

“I should have said something,” Arthur says. “But the way you were looking at me, the way you smiled and thanked me--it was like you saw me, but you didn’t. Like tonight.”

“I don’t understand,” Merlin whispers, tears prickling at the back of this throat.

“I didn’t either,” Arthur whispers back, his own voice rough and low. “It terrified me. So I ran.”

“But you came back.”

“Because I figured it out. When you looked at me, you didn’t see my suit, my career, or my company. You saw _me_.”

“I couldn’t help it.” Merlin’s voice is scraped raw and vulnerable, weighted with years of invisibility and despair. “I _always_ saw you.”

Arthur’s breath whispers over his hair. “I always saw you too.”

Merlin can’t breathe. His heart pounds in his chest as his hands fly up to clutch at Arthur’s arms. Arthur ducks his head, nose brushing the skin just below Merlin’s ear.

“I should have spoken to you months ago,” he says quietly. “You have no idea how much it meant to me to see you every day.”

Merlin doesn’t realize that tears are rolling down his cheeks until Arthur raises one hand to brush them away. Merlin leans into the touch and Arthur’s breath hisses sharply. When Merlin twists to look at him, Arthur’s face is a mask of raw emotion.

“I lied to you before.” The words sound like they’re being torn from Arthur’s throat, ragged and stained with shame. His grip starts to loosen and Merlin feels a fluttering in his stomach, like the world just tilted too far to the left. Arthur’s arms fall away to his sides—Merlin’s still framed by his legs, but the sudden loss of connection makes him feel like the ground’s falling away beneath him.

“I said I didn’t want anything from you,” Arthur’s saying. Merlin looks up in alarm and Arthur stumbles over his words. “And I don’t--I mean, I don’t want anything _from_ you.”

And even though Merlin understands--compassion is one thing, desire is another--it’s like being stabbed in the gut to hear him say it. He hunches in on himself, curling inward for protection and Arthur draws in a strained breath.

“I just want _you_.”

Arthur’s tone is filled with so much pain it takes Merlin several seconds to understand his words. Arthur is still talking and Merlin struggles to keep up as blood pounds in his ears.

“--’d never ask, I don’t expect anything, but I’ve wanted to just-- _hold_ you, like that, ever since I saw you--”

Something brittle inside Merlin snaps, leaving him raw and aching. “Why don’t you, then?”

He means it to be a plea, but his voice is rough and low like a challenge. Arthur looks at him helplessly. “I can’t. If I touch you again I--I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

Merlin stares at him as he looks away, cheeks burning with shame. “I swear, I never intended to--that’s not why I invited you here, I just--” He breaks off, closing his eyes as he takes a deep, shaking breath. Merlin feels his stomach twist as the mask begins to slide back into place. Eyes still closed, Arthur opens his mouth to speak.

But Merlin knows that whatever words come out of the mask, it won’t be Arthur speaking. Gathering the fragments of his strength around him like a blanket, he forces himself to talk first.

“I waited for you every day,” he says, not even trying to hide the way his voice shakes. “Not for the food. I could--I could always get food _somewhere_. I just--I just needed to see you. And you never, ever missed a day.”

Arthur’s eyes open slowly and he looks so lost that Merlin has to fight back tears.

“I’m not crazy,” he says, meeting Arthur’s eyes despite the water clouding his own, “but I’m--I’m not okay either. I just--" He blinks again, feeling the tears spill over and run down his cheeks.

"I don’t _want_ you to stop,” he whispers.

The moments tick away between them as Arthur stares at him. Then, slowly, his hand rises, cupping Merlin’s cheek with aching tenderness. Merlin’s eyelids flutter shut and he leans into the touch.

Arthur swallows. “What do you want?” he asks thickly.

Merlin turns into Arthur’s caress so that his lips brush across Arthur’s palm. “Touch me,” he whispers.

Arthur exhales slowly. His hands start to slip away from Merlin’s cheek and Merlin’s eyes fly open, only to close again as Arthur’s hand brushes down across his neck. Arthur’s fingers dip under his collar and he shudders.

Arthur freezes; Merlin’s heart pounds as he waits for him to jerk his hand away, to realize what he’s doing. Then he feels the light, soft press of Arthur’s lips against his and he moans as Arthur tilts his head, deepening the kiss.

Merlin’s lips part eagerly when Arthur’s tongue nudges between them. Arthur makes a low noise in the back of his throat and his other hand comes up to cup the back of Merlin’s neck. Their tongues slide together as a wave of vertigo washes over Merlin; he doesn’t realize he’s actually tipping backwards until he’s on his back beneath Arthur.

Arthur breaks the kiss and pulls back slightly, hovering over him with dark eyes. Apprehension courses through Merlin’s veins as Arthur’s hand travels down his chest to the hem of his shirt, before slipping beneath the cloth.

The feel of Arthur’s skin on his makes Merlin whimper. Arthur freezes and Merlin feels his cheeks burn.

“I--I’m not--” he tries.

Arthur’s fingers twitch against his stomach. “Not what?”

The warmth in his voice only makes Merlin feels worse. “Not like you,” he mumbles. “Not perfect.”

Arthur’s breath sighs across Merlin’s ear as he leans in. “My teeth are crooked.”

Merlin blinks, but any reply he would have made is cut off as Arthur’s hand rubs a slow circle on his stomach.

“My left leg is longer than my right one.”

Arthur’s hand is creeping up his stomach and Merlin can’t breathe.

“I have six toes on my right foot.”

Arthur’s hand is skimming over his chest, teasing each nipple in turn, but his confession gets Merlin’s attention. “Really?”

“No.” Arthur murmurs into Merlin’s skin just before kissing his way down Merlin’s neck. Merlin tilts his head back and Arthur hums with approval. He makes it to Merlin’s collarbone before Merlin realizes he’s also lifting Merlin’s shirt, exposing his stomach and chest to the air.

Merlin tenses, but Arthur kisses him soundly before he can voice his protest.

“Please,” he whispers into Merlin’s mouth. “Let me see you. _Please._ ”

Tears prick at the corner of Merlin’s eyes, so he screws them shut. Nodding silently, his stomach clenches as Arthur pulls back. Merlin can’t open his eyes, can’t bear to watch Arthur look at him. He feels a tremor run through him as Arthur stays silent.

Then Arthur’s lips press, teasing and warm, just below his belly button.

 Merlin cries out and arches up, hands flying automatically to Arthur’s shoulders. He feels Arthur pause, until it’s obvious that Merlin’s not pushing him away. Merlin’s fingers twist in Arthur’s shirt and he writhes as Arthur kisses his way up his stomach.

When Arthur sucks gently on his nipple, Merlin whines and tangles his fingers into Arthur’s hair. Arthur huffs a laugh into his ches, and one of his hands finds its way to the waistband of Merlin’s sweatpants.

Merlin moans as Arthur’s hand slides down the outside of his sweats, dipping in between his legs and cupping him firmly. He flushes with embarrassment--he’s so hard already and all they’ve done is kiss, but Arthur makes a desperate noise and tightens his grip.

“Oh god,” he moans, nuzzling Merlin’s jaw as Merlin thrusts up helplessly. “I--I want--”

Merlin just nods hazily, lust-fogged mind barely registering that Arthur is speaking at all. Arthur backs away before pulling Merlin’s sweats down to his ankles and Merlin feels a jolt of fear. Arthur’s strong, sure hands spread his legs and Merlin screws his eyes shut again. He tenses, waiting for the burning press of Arthur pushing inside him--it’s been so long that he knows it will hurt, but Arthur wants it, Arthur wants _him_ , and there’s no way Merlin is going to risk ruining everything just because--

When Arthur’s mouth closes, hot and wet, around his cock, the shock of pleasure instead of pain makes Merlin scream.

Everything’s gone hazy. Merlin’s eyelashes flutter weakly as Arthur mouths just the tip of his cock. The world comes in snapshots--Arthur, blond hair obscuring his eyes as he swirls his tongue around Merlin’s length. Lightning flashing outside the window as Merlin arches up, head falling back as he hits the back of Arthur’s throat. The way Arthur moans, low and deep, when Merlin’s fingers clutch at his hair.

Colors burst behind Merlin’s eyes as Arthur takes him in even deeper. Shame pools in his belly even as his body trembles with pleasure--Arthur swallows around him and Merlin nearly bites through his own lip. His hips thrust up before he can control himself and he can’t be doing this, can’t be taking pleasure like this without giving anything--

Arthur half-hums, half-growls and swallows again. His hands fly to Merlin’s hipbones, clenching hard enough to bruise; Merlin tenses, waiting for Arthur to hold him down, to keep him from thrusting again...

But Arthur’s hands slide under him, pressing him up, and then Merlin’s fucking up into his mouth, hard and fast and desperate.

He’s so far gone that he doesn’t realize what’s happening until Arthur pulls away, gasping slightly over the sounds of the storm. Nearly blind with the need to come, Merlin cries out, reaching for him, and then Arthur’s kissing him, licking into his mouth as he runs his hands up and down Merlin’s body.

“Not yet,” Arthur murmurs as Merlin pulls him in close. “I want to do this right.”

Merlin’s arms are wrapped so tightly around Arthur’s neck that he can feel Arthur’s muscles bunch. Then Arthur’s lifting him up, pulling him onto his feet. Merlin’s sweats are tangled around his ankles and he stumbles; Arthur swings him up in his arms, kissing him again, and carries him from the room.

When he lays Merlin on his bed, Merlin feels a wave of panic. He tries to clamp down on it as Arthur hovers over him, but something must show in his eyes.

“It’s okay,” Arthur says softly, ducking his head and nuzzling Merlin’s neck. “We’re not going to do anything you don’t want to do.”

He pulls back, staring into Merlin’s eyes. “What _do_ you want to do?”

Merlin’s hand fists the bedclothes, but despite the pounding of his heart, he can’t look away. “I--I don’t know--”

His voice cracks and breaks off, and he can’t do this, can’t tell Arthur what he wants because it’s been so long since he’s been _allowed_ to want anything at all.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

Fear lances through him and he turns his head to the side. Closing his eyes, he nods once, hoping Arthur will just accept it and get it over with--

“Or,” Arthur’s breath whispers, hot and wet over his ear, “Do you want to fuck me?”

Merlin’s eyes fly open and his breath catches. He stares up at Arthur in panicked disbelief.

Arthur looks down at him, eyes soft and serious.

Merlin takes a deep breath. “Do you--is that what you--”

Arthur nods solemnly, a sad half-smile dancing at the corner of his mouth. “Not if you don’t want to. But yes.”

Merlin feels like he’s walking next to a cliff in a windstorm.

“Okay,” he chokes out. “Okay.”

Arthur’s smile lights up his entire face, stealing Merlin’s breath as he backs off the bed. Before Merlin can react, Arthur’s stripping off his shirt and jeans. Merlin barely manages to kick his sweats all the way off before Arthur dives back onto the bed. He scoops Merlin up and rolls them over until Merlin is sprawled on top of him, wrapped in his arms. Merlin shifts slightly, hissing as they grind against each other and Arthur presses up for a kiss.

“Go slowly,” he says, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes. “It’s...been a long time.”

Merlin kisses him back, before pushing up on his hands and knees.

“In the nightstand,” Arthur says, and Merlin retrieves the condom and lube with hands, only shaking a little. Arthur watches with hungry eyes as he puts the condom on and gets himself slick, before coating his fingers liberally. Arthur’s eyes flutter shut and he lets his head fall back with a sigh as Merlin presses one leg up to his chest.

Arthur’s breath hitches as Merlin gently presses the tip of one finger against him. Merlin feels his muscles twitch and watches the way his throat works when he swallows. Arthur moans when Merlin presses his fingertip inside and Merlin has to swoop down and capture his mouth.

Arthur’s hands fly to his shoulders as Merlin pushes further inside and Merlin freezes. “Okay?”

Arthur just nods jerkily, arms wrapping around Merlin and pulling him in close. Merlin’s finger slides the rest of the way in.

The thunder nearly drowns out Arthur’s whimper as Merlin starts to finger him, working his finger in and out until it slides easily before adding another. Arthur’s breath is hot against his cheek as he stretches the tight, perfect space inside Arthur’s body. He loses all sense of time at the feel of Arthur wrapped around his fingers, mesmerized by the way Arthur’s body opens for him, pulling him in and holding him close. He could go on like this forever, he thinks, when--

“Please,” Arthur gasps, fingers gripping Merlin’s skin, “I’m ready. _Please_.”

Suddenly overwhelmed by a rush of heat, Merlin pulls his fingers out too quickly and Arthur hisses. Merlin tries to apologize, but Arthur pulls him into a kiss with one arm, before reaching around with the other and wrapping Merlin’s hand in his own.

“Do it,” Arthur says, low and intense, and Merlin’s falling into his eyes even as he buries himself in Arthur’s body.

Arthur’s arms wrap around his shoulders as Merlin presses his face into Arthur’s neck.

“Please,” Arthur begs, “Do it. Fuck me.”

Merlin wraps his own arms under Arthur’s shoulders and finds his mouth again, before thrusting deep into his body. Arthur cries out against Merlin’s cheek and Merlin rocks into him again as the thunder rattles the windows.

Merlin’s not sure how long it lasts, panting hot against Arthur’s skin as the storm rages around them. Arthur cries out with each thrust, urging Merlin on until Merlin is pounding into him as hard as he can, caught up in the rhythm of skin and sweat and storm.

When he finally comes, shaking with the fury of the storm itself, Arthur’s come is slick between them, Arthur’s legs are wrapped around his hips and Arthur’s arms hold him close as he crashes over the edge into the blinding darkness.

* * *

He wakes in darkness to the low sound of the wind, warm and comfortable and terrified. Something’s holding him down; he doesn’t know where he is, he doesn’t--

Then Arthur shifts, the arm around Merlin’s chest sliding down to his waist, and Merlin calms. He settles back into the warmth of Arthur’s body as Arthur curls up behind him, nuzzling his ear.

“As soon as I heard about the storm, I knew.” Arthur’s voice is thick and slurred with sleep, and Merlin presses back into his arms. “I had to find you.”

Merlin’s eyes are already closing and Arthur’s words wash over him like warm water.

Arthur yawns, hot breath against Merlin’s skin. “I had to keep you safe.”

He grows still, his breathing evening out in the rhythm of sleep, and Merlin’s entire body relaxes with the sound.

But just as he’s drifting away, a tiny voice inside him raises its head and whispers.

_No place is safe._

* * *

When Merlin wakes again, it’s because a sunbeam has fallen across his face, warming his nose and penetrating the darkness of sleep. He blinks blearily, wincing against the piercing brightness. He tries to roll over, to pull his newspapers and rags over his face, but freezes at the feel of a soft, luxurious blanket under his hands.

The events of the night before break over him like a wave, disbelief and fear and longing swirling with a strange, fragile joy. And laced throughout it all, the sickening realization that the storm has passed.

The bed shifts behind him, dipping below Arthur’s weight as he snuggles up to Merlin. Wrapping his arm around Merlin’s waist, he pulls tight against him.

“I made breakfast hours ago,” he mumbles into the skin below Merlin’s ear. “But you were sleeping.”

Merlin’s heart twists in his chest and he reaches out for a question he hasn’t asked in years to hide the way his stomach drops at the sound of Arthur’s voice.

“What time is it?”

Arthur chuckles softly. “Almost eleven.”

The number barely registers; it’s been so long since Merlin’s cared about the hours of the day...

Except for rush hour. He always knows when that is, because that’s when Ap--

Then reality crashes down.

There won’t be any more rush hours, not for him. There’s no way he can go back to seeing _Arthur_ like that, like a far-off, shining star, not when he knows the way Arthur looks when he comes, the way he shudders and clings and says words that mean nothing and everything.

Merlin’s breath is shallow, panting in time with his racing heartbeat, when he feels Arthur move behind him.

“Merlin?”

Arthur lifts himself up on one elbow, looking down at Merlin as worry colors his tone. Merlin blinks up at him, trying to fight the tears that threaten to pool in his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

And then it’s no use, because he’s _not_ okay, and the tears swell and spill over even though he closes his eyes against Arthur’s blue gaze.

“Hey, shh.” Arthur folds down around him, pulling Merlin into his chest and holding him tight. “I’m here.”

No, Merlin wants to tell him, _I’m_ here. I’m _here_. And then I _won’t_ be here, because you won’t want me, because you’ll see how _not okay_ I am and you’ll leave and throw me out like everyone el--

“Um.” The uncertainty in Arthur’s voice cuts through Merlin’s mental confusion, even as Arthur’s arms tighten around him. “So. The storm.”

He knew this was coming. Merlin feels a hysterical laugh bubble up inside him, threatening to burst out even as he braces himself for Arthur’s next words.

“It’s...it’s still pretty bad out there.”

Merlin feels the sunlight on his back and his thoughts grind to a halt. Arthur takes a deep breath.

“In fact, I don’t know when it’s going to get better.” Arthur lifts his head up awkwardly, looking down at Merlin. “We might be stuck here for a long time.”

Merlin stares up at him, uncomprehending.

“I mean--” Arthur swallows. “This is probably the safest place we can be.”

Merlin’s throat tightens and he squashes the hope trying to blossom in his chest.

_No place is safe._

Arthur shifts under him, one hand running in distracted circles over Merlin’s bare shoulders. “I don’t--I’m not trying to--I mean, you can go back out there if you want.” His cheeks flush red, but his eyes are bright as they meet Merlin’s. “But if you don’t, if you--” He ducks his head.

“I want you to stay,” he says quietly.

Merlin’s heart pounds as his fingers dig into Arthur’s skin. Panic bubbles up from his stomach, freezing his tongue and choking him. He knows he has to leave, to run far away--

But Arthur’s hands are caressing him gently, and he _wants._

He _wants_.

He buries his face in Arthur’s chest and Arthur holds him, loose and solid and warm.

You don’t know what you’re offering, he wants to say. It’s not that easy. I can’t _tell_ you what it’s like, you don’t know me at all, you’ll never understand--

Arthur’s hands still and he sucks in a breath. “Oh! I almost forgot.”

Then he’s scooting out from under Merlin, rolling across the bed and grabbing something from the floor.

“I thought I had these tucked away somewhere,” he’s saying as he crawls back across the bed.

Merlin feels like the room has gone sideways, disorienting and strange. He blinks in confusion, staring into Arthur’s eyes to figure out what’s going on.

Arthur flops down next to him, offering the white plastic box with a tentative, hopeful smile. “You were right, last night. There’s no color here.”

Merlin tears his eyes away from Arthur’s face and reluctantly accepts the box.

Arthur’s fingers brush over the back of Merlin’s hand. “But maybe there could be.”

And then Merlin’s heart is pounding again, but not with fear. Suddenly, the plain white box is the most fascinating thing in the world and Merlin tears the lid off with shaking fingers.

Inside is a set of ancient oil paints.

“I know they’re old,” Arthur’s saying, “but we can get new ones. I think they were my sis--um, I don’t really remember where they came from, but I thought you’d--”

The red clumps thickly on Merlin’s finger, but it’s still _red_. He stares at it as Arthur talks, wonderfully meaningless words just begging to be cut off by--

Arthur blinks at him in shock, the stripe of red cutting across his cheek and over his lips.

It suits him.

Merlin _knew_ it would.

Then Arthur’s whole face dissolves in a smile, and he’s grabbing Merlin and the paints and there’s red _everywhere_. It’s just like his dreams except better because it’s _Arthur_ and they’re kissing and kissing and kissing and Merlin’s heart feels like it’s going to explode...

“So that’s it, then?” Arthur breaks away, pushing Merlin up just enough to look into his eyes. “You’ll stay?”

Merlin smiles down at him and sees Arthur figure out it before he actually answers.

_No place is safe,_ says the little voice, and Merlin feels lighter than he has in years.

Because it’s true.

No place is safe.

But some places...

Some places are _shelter_.

 

_Fin_


End file.
